


I've Never

by neutralize



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Gen Work, Humor, Mentions of Underage Sex, Never Have I Ever, Nice Receive, Party Games, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 05:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12574436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neutralize/pseuds/neutralize
Summary: “Yes, Ushiwaka-chan, I meant itsexually,” Oikawa hisses, at the same time Daichi loses his battle and starts to snicker. “The entire point of this game is to be as lewd as possible – something even a simpleton like you should understand.”“If that is the case, then allow me to follow the spirit of the game more closely,” Ushijima suggests. “I have never engaged in any intimate relations with my teammates.”The room plunges into frozen mortification as the other four put down their fingers.Or: Ushijima's ability to take out opponents is a skill that transcends volleyball; Oikawa isnota pervert; Daichi just wants some good, clean fun; and Kuroo and Bokuto are... themselves.





	I've Never

**Author's Note:**

> Kindly edited by [Nata](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark), as well as my friend [Jen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/petaldancing). A million apologies (again) to the former for how rough this was when it first got to you - I swear I love you with every fiber of my being and thank you for being patient with me!!! You're the best beta ever! ;A;
> 
> I'm not going to tag the implied ships because they're not the main focus of the story. However, I am erring on the side of caution here and tagging this with the underage warning, even though there's no explicit mentions of it.
> 
> Writing five different perspectives at once while trying to keep the voice of the fic generally unbiased and neutral was hard, but fun! I like writing these five idiots together, so who knows, maybe I'll do it again the future.

Tradition is probably not this.

Tradition implies sacredness. Tradition implies a feeling of old honor that is upheld, not because one is compelled to, but because that’s how it works: doing what is just and correct, a testament of perseverance to be remembered by generations to come.

Tradition, Ushijima thinks, is probably not…whatever this is. It is probably not him and his fellow captains from Karasuno, Aoba Johsai, Nekoma and Fukurodani, sitting in a loose circle in Shiratorizawa’s training suite, with Oikawa Tooru glaring daggers at him. Nor is it Sawamura Daichi saying, _this is pretty awkward and a party game is our best bet if we want to enjoy ourselves tonight._

It is definitely not Bokuto Koutarou downing his third can of Sapporo, nor is it Kuroo Tetsurou reaching for his second.

Until Shiratorizawa reexamines its definition of _tradition_ , though – and if they say this is the best approach, for that matter – Ushijima tolerates being roped into this captain’s meeting, even if it resembles a pretext for something other than academic and athletic camaraderie.

“The rules,” says Oikawa, fanning his fingers in a single, fluid motion, “are simple. One of us says something we haven’t done, and anyone that has puts down a finger. First one to lose all ten will be forever known as this group’s resident deviant.”

“No need to start projecting this early, you know,” Kuroo sneers. Oikawa twists his fingers in an obscene gesture and Bokuto’s laugh reverberates off the walls.

“If you guys are done?” Daichi says, frowning. “I’ll go first because our team is the best – ”

“Your definition of ‘best’ needs serious correction, just so you know.”

“That,” Daichi continues over Kuroo’s interruption, “and because I want to start this before it has a chance to go to hell. I’ve never believed in extraterrestrial beings.”

“Oh, come _on_ , they are absolutely real,” Oikawa protests, jamming his thumb into his palm. Kuroo and Bokuto look mostly indifferent as they tuck in their fingers; Ushijima does not budge. “There’s footage of aliens all over the internet, you’d have to be willfully ignorant not to realize that, Sawamura-kun!”

Daichi rolls his eyes. “I fail to see how refusing to troll conspiracy websites makes me ‘willfully ignorant’.”

“We going my way, then?” Kuroo asks, leering. “I’ve never jerked it off at school.”

“And there it is,” Daichi says with mock awe, trying to hide his own finger being lost. Oikawa lets out an irritable _tch_ losing his. Bokuto seems to give the prompt heavy consideration before ultimately leaving a finger up. He scrunches up his face, thinking of his suggestion.

Once he does, his face lights up like sun. “I know! I’ve never done a kickflip off the bleachers, but Akaashi does all the time! It’s the coolest thing ever!” When he’s met with silence, he yells, “Hey! No one’s putting a finger down!”

“Of course not,” Kuroo snaps, “because that’s too specific. The whole point is to know your friend’s bullshit and snipe them for it, not come up with the craziest idea.”

“But I didn’t make it up! Akaashi _does_ do that!”

“Yeah, only because you ask him all the time to do that and he indulges you. Besides, who cares about Akaashi? He’s not even here!”

“I’ve never,” Oikawa announces with such intensity it drowns out Kuroo and Bokuto’s squabbling, “worn any kind of women’s clothing.”

“I’d like to mention how much I _don’t_ believe that, but sure, Oikawa,” Daichi mutters. Kuroo glowers, now down to eight fingers. Oikawa’s laugh dies in his throat when Ushijima puts down his first finger with unflinching intensity.

When he sees the others staring, Ushijima says, “When I was a child, I went to a festival and ate something that made me ill. My mother had to put me in her jacket, because I had thrown up on my shirt.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you had me going there for a second, Ushiwaka,” Oikawa breathes after a beat of awkward silence.

“I fail to see how something as innocuous as wearing clothing could be considered scandalous. Or perhaps you meant that in a sexual manner,” Ushijima replies, and Daichi tries not to laugh at how bluntly earnest he sounds.

“ _Yes_ , Ushiwaka-chan, I meant it _sexually_ ,” Oikawa hisses, at the same time Daichi loses his battle and starts to snicker. “The entire point of this game is to be as lewd as possible – something even a simpleton like you should understand.”

“If that is the case, then allow me to follow the spirit of the game more closely,” Ushijima suggests. “I have never engaged in any intimate relations with my teammates.”

The room plunges into frozen mortification as the other four put down their fingers.

“Unbelievable,” Daichi mutters, “okay, uh… I’ve… I’ve never thrown up from drinking too much.”

“Me neither!” Bokuto says brightly, extending his non-playing hand out for a high five. Oikawa’s mouth curls into a frown and threatens to stay like that for the rest of the night, and Kuroo shoots Bokuto an equally petulant look.

“No one can outdrink you without a trip to the ER first,” Kuroo complains. “Anyway, I’ve never had a serious injury from playing volleyball.” Three more fingers are lost when Oikawa mouths _it sucks_ , and Daichi and Bokuto nod in agreement.

“Mmmm,” Bokuto hums, “I guess… I’ve never gotten perfect marks on my tests!”

“Getting closer, Bokuto,” Kuroo says, watching Ushijima and Oikawa also lose fingers. “But still not what I mean when I say ‘sniping’.”

Oikawa interrupts before the Tokyo pair can start bickering again. “I’ve never made any of my dear kouhais cry~”

Kuroo puts down a finger, albeit reluctantly, and Daichi just shrugs when he puts his down.

“Sawamura-kun, you’re so terrible~!”

“You _are_ aware you’re already down a hand, right?”

“So is Kuroo-kun!”

“But _he_ hasn’t hypocritically accused me of being terrible yet,” Daichi retorts, shooting Kuroo a challenging glance. Kuroo’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline and his mouth kinks in a way that wordlessly says, _I’m good_ , which only prompts Daichi to give Oikawa a knowing look.

All eyes turn to Ushijima, who frowns. “I have never been under the influence of alcohol or any other drugs.”

“You’re a real saint, Ushiwaka,” Kuroo drawls, his voice cracking with sarcastic admiration as he presses his four remaining fingers tenderly to his chest. Bokuto, Daichi, and especially Oikawa do not share the same fondness, pretend or otherwise.

“You know what, what the hell. Let’s crash and burn here,” Daichi deadpans. “I’ve never gone streaking.”

“You haven’t lived,” Bokuto tells him with great conviction in his voice, while Oikawa gripes about a dare with the track team.

From Kuroo, who did not lose a finger last round to everyone’s surprise: “I’ve never given head for money or any kind of favor.”

“I hope not,” Daichi says, incredulous. Again, Oikawa makes an offhand comment about the track team.

“I’ve never been pantsed! Although people tried. Akaashi usually stopped them before they could.”

“There you go!” Kuroo exclaims, thumping a hand on Bokuto’s thigh. “That’s a good example! Nothing but pride over here, you big lug.”

As Bokuto gives a delighted squawk of laughter, Oikawa tries not to stare at his sole finger too obviously. The past three casualties, through some stroke of stupefying, could-only-happen-to-him luck, are all from the same heated confrontation involving the _refined_ gentlemen of Aoba Johsai’s track team, a distant memory from his second year that still haunts him intermittently. He’s ascending the throne of _resident deviant_ at a frightening pace, and while he can accept that he is not a genius, Oikawa Tooru is _not_ the biggest pervert. Not for this group, at any rate; the Karasuno, Nekoma and Fukurodani captains have enough dirt between them to create a mountain and they know it. The only game Oikawa is interested in playing with them now is one of endurance.

Just because it’s off season for him doesn’t mean he ever stops defending himself from challengers.

 _If you’re going to hit it..._ He grins as the words leave his mouth, sing-song. “I’ve never fucked anyone who plays setter.”

The effect is instantaneous and devastatingly hilarious. Oikawa knows there’s no way he can trip Ushiwaka on a bar that low, but the same can’t be said for the other captains. Their perfectly scandalized expressions only encourage his new working hypothesis that quantity is occasionally better than quality.

“You _prat_.” Kuroo-kun.

“Nice receive.” Sawamura-kun.

“That was _brutal_.” Bokuto-kun.

“ _Ganbare_ , Ushiwaka-chan!” Oikawa coos at Ushijima.

Ushijima turns to him, squarely meeting Oikawa’s ferocious gaze. There are many things he does not understand about him, such as the way he sticks out his tongue coquettishly after mocking someone or his habit of patronizing nicknames. He especially does not understand why he’s intent on taking on Ushijima now, of all times, but he knows this about Oikawa Tooru: the difference between them has always been clear.

“I have never been disqualified from playing Nationals more than once.”

The words suck the breath out of the room, and they can hear their souls shriveling in the acid of the suggestion’s unintentional poison.

As Oikawa glares in livid silence, Kuroo’s face swells and bursts into obnoxious, bawdy laughter. Meanwhile, Bokuto’s mouth hangs agape, and Daichi pinches the bridge of his nose in a vice grip.

Oikawa is officially out, with no fingers to spare. Kuroo is barely hanging on to any decorum, with one finger left; Daichi comes in “third” with three remaining; and Bokuto is – now frowning.

“This game sucks!” he blurts out. “I still have a bunch of my fingers!”

“Bokuto, dude,” Kuroo begins, in between gasps of air, “the entire point of the game is to _keep_ your fingers, not lose them all. Why are you so mad?”

“Because I wanted to be the first to lose them!” Bokuto shouts, leaping to his feet. “I’m outta here, I don’t want to play games with you guys anymore!”

Ushijima stares at his mostly intact hands, the chaos surrounding him seemingly distant.

He smiles. Perhaps there is worth, after all, in Shiratorizawa recognizing this tradition.


End file.
